#she walked in all preppy in like... tennis club clothes or some shit

[piratefishmama]

Mechanic!Eddie fully thriving as he watches Stevie eviscerate one of his fellow mechanics for thinking she can be ripped off.

That's his future wife right there.

She dont know it yet

But that's her.

[amusedyan]

The Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Dinner

As he walked through the night, feet moving entirely on autopilot, Shirou reflected on his life, and the many choices that he'd made to get into this situation. As well as how to get out of it.

Shirou Sato liked Sayu Yagami very much. She was pretty smart, pretty nice, and even pretty pretty. He could really see them having fun together and going steady. And he liked to think that he was something of a catch too! He was in the top 10 of his class, he played on his school's soccer team, and he even liked to think that he was also pretty pretty! He'd even been scared off of pirating music since Kira showed up!

They'd been going out for almost a month, and Shirou was actually pretty excited to be at least meeting Sayu's mom, even if Sayu's Dad was working. It was a sign that their relationship was moving forward.

And then. They arrived.

Soichirou Yagami. The Father. Light Yagami. The Older Brother. And for some reason, some freak called Hideki Ryuga, who was a friend or boyfriend of the Older Brother?? He actually had never gotten a straight answer from anyone about that.

At any rate, the three of them had only just sat down to dinner- it had been katsudon, and it had probably been pretty good even if Shirou couldn't actually remember if he had managed to eat any- when the other three had shown up out of the blue. Which, fine, for two of them it was their own home and they didn't need an invitation. But apparently it had been over a month since they'd been there? Weird. 

Shirou knew in his heart that Light Yagami had taken one look at him and just. Loathed him on sight. He hadn't done anything but smile and ask questions the entire dinner. 

So do you go to Sayu's school?

Yes, and-

What is your class rank?

Uh, tenth, but-

How nice. Tenth. 

Um, yeah, Sayu and I study together a lot-

Do you.

Yeah, I help her with math and she helps me with english-

Math. How nice of you. 

The entire dinner had been nothing but one question after the other from the guy. Where are you from (Tokyo all my life). What do your parents do (My dad works for the Yotsuba Corporation in Marketing. My mom stays at home). Are you in any school clubs (soccer). What is your prior relationship history (?). What are your university plans (??). Where do you see yourself in five years? In ten (???) Does your family have any congenital medical conditions (???!!?)

And the rest of them just. Sat there. Chatted in the twenty second breaks they could pry from Light’s barrage. Nodded and smiled while Light Yagami stared him down with his ridiculous hair and preppy clothes and a perfectly polite smile that did not go away even while he was chewing. HOW.

And with every answer that Shirou gave, Light Yagami would toss out a little side remark. Like it was nothing.

I was first in my class. Always.

I was a tennis prodigy, did you know?

I had three girlfriends at once and not only did they all know about each other I managed to dump them all when I got bored and get away clean from it. (So he hadn’t said it it exactly like that, but that had been what Shirou had gotten from it)

I’m going to the premier university in Japan.

I’m going to be a member of the police. I’m going to run the police one day, probably within ten years.

We have no history of being predisposed to any illness of any kind on either side of our family.

Everything that Shirou said was picked through. Everything that Shirou was proud of himself for was shoved down underneath the weight of another's accomplishments. Light Yagami hadn’t even said a word about table manners and Shirou knew that he was being mocked about his, just by the prissy way that Light handled his chopsticks and his napkin.

Mr Yagami had plowed through half of the katsudon nodding and smiling. Mrs Yagami had fluttered between her husband and son, nodding and smiling. The Boyfriend? Rival? Cousin? (WHY WERE THEY HANDCUFFED. NOBODY WAS MENTIONING IT BUT WHY WERE THEY HANDCUFFED TOGETHER) hadn’t eaten anything but had also smiled like Shirou was a dog that had learned a new trick the entire time.

And Sayu. His girlfriend.

She’d just sat there. Nodding and smiling. Eating with the same precision as her brother. He wasn’t going to lie, it had hurt that she didn’t do anything to defend him. But honestly? After the dinner he’d just gone through, Shirou was thinking about finding a way out of the relationship anyway. Sayu’s brother was crazy, her wired cousin was crazy, and her parents were probably the craziest since they thought all this shit was normal.

Yeah. Pretty girls weren’t worth this.

(Streets away, Light told his sister “I don’t think I see your relationship with that boy going anywhere. Sayu, you should think about whether you want to tie yourself to that sort of person.”)

(Sayu nods. And smiles.)

(“I know you liked him, Sayu. But I only want what’s best for you.”)

[gotatext]

by this point im p sure u all know the drill.... i’m nora, 23, she/her, gmt and tonight matthew im going to be greta o’driscoll, a terrible person but a hot one which frankly makes it almost ok. here is her pinterest..... this intro is literally just copied n pasted frm the last time i played her so soz if u’ve read it like 10+ times.... 

「 diana silvers. cis-female. 」have you seen greta o’driscoll around yet? i hear she decided to be in POTENTAS for their SOPHOMORE year as a CRIMINAL PSYCHOLOGY major. the 20 year old SHEPHERD is known to be tenacious, magnetic, capricious and evasive. ➨ the muse is written by nora, she/her, gmt.

was adopted as an infant. had two foster moms and two older sisters so always surrounded by women. lived in a boarding house, very much like the one in 20th century women, with lodgers coming in and out all the time, mostly artsy young women because her gay moms were both high school teachers trying to set up their own arts collective. one of her moms left when she was 4, n she doesn’t really remember her.

while living with entirely women made her super into catlin moran and the guilty feminist, as a teenager she often let boys walk all over her bc she just craved male attention jst bcos she’d never really experienced it. saw it as something aspirational, like sitting in the back of chad’s second-hand truck while he drove you to macdonalds and offered you and his five friends with identical haircuts weed was the height of being cool to greta, she wanted to be their dream girl, even if it meant compromising her beliefs

was always a really sporty bitch. it started with a junior athletics squad, which turned into athletics and cheer, which then became athletics, cheer and hockey until she basically was doing a different activity every night. she came to see her body as a tool that she could make work for her if she trained it up and this attitude’s always kind of stayed with her that as long as her body is strong she is capable of anything. runs every day. 

bubbly bitch but also massive snake. metaphorically and literally, always shedding her skin. loyal to few, ruled by none, out for herself, babey!! every place she goes, she becomes a new character, someone who’s a figment of her imagination, as if each city is repertory theatre and she’s a character actress, so as a result som ppl think she’s called rita, some ppl know her as margot, she just flicks through identities like nobodies business.

left school at 18 n went backpacking around the states making money in the casinos by being a shot girl (yeehaw) and trying to make it as a mysterious 1920s widow with a smoky voice, a dark secret n a heart of gold, looking for love in the big city. all she found was producers and acting agents who’d promise her stardom n actually just fuck her in a motel n then ignore her calls.

TW domestic violence, TW gun, her watershed moment came when she met luke in sioux falls while she was working at a strip club. he was a few years older and had a car, and they kind of went from seeing each other to being that super intense couple who are just necking all the time.

they got engaged like 3 months after they met n rented a flat together, much to her family’s annoyance but she was 19 so there wasn’t much they could do. their relationship was super super intense though, often really heightened and when they fought it could become quite violent, but she’d pass it off as just him being really passionate.

one of their fights got really heated and greta threatened him with the gun he kept in the glove box of his vauxhall corsa, but the safety was off and she accidentally shot him. she pleaded self defence in the trial n cos of the amount of times she’d been hospitalised for various concussions n things like ‘fallling down the stairs’ the police were like yea… pretty watertight evidence that he was a bastard who [chicago voice] had it coming….. 

she’s now under witness protection, rehoused in livingstone as a sports-scholarship student, due to the amount of police involvement in the area, it would mean should one of luke’s family members try to track her down, she’d be relatively safe

massive sports fanatic. plays tennis. on the cheer team. was a track superstar in her high school. honestly just that sporty bitch, you’ll see her doing lines at a party at half four and then on your way to your 9am lecture you see her running across the park like a fresh fucking daisy who is this bitch. maybe it’s maybelline, maybe its coke.

massive feminist. low key quite scared of powerful men bcos of her ex. wants to start a female only lesbian commune bc she misses her childhood in a south dakota boarding house and has endless support for women. honestly annoyed that she is attracted to men, would so be 100% gay if it was a choice. cuffs her jeans and can’t drive. is That bisexual. skateboards. wears backwards caps.  i hate her 

isn’t a foward-planner, however. greta prefers to leave her options open, play the field, live in a spontaneous manners so her study style is mostly cramming a few days before a test, or staying up all night writing an essay on a massive adrenline boost powered by red bull or probably adderall, scribbling (or typing) furiously into the night.

has an addictive personality. seems unable to do anything in a small dose, she has to let it utterly consume her. with sports, she’s fiercely competitive. with alcohol, it’s never a shot, it’s a whole bottle – wine or whiskey – she’ll be table dancing before the night’s up and making out with someone she’ll regret in the morning. 

not afraid to go after what she wants !! ambitious academically and romantically thirsty !! she loves the adrenaline of the chase. when someone’s easy to get, she becomes bored. very bisexual and very proud of it. feminist as fuck nd part of a queer representation in the arts group which holds fortnightly meetings to discuss lgbt representation in film, literature, art etc.

old soul in a young person’s body. all the shit that has gone on has kind of aged her. she’s quite cynical about everything now. always smoking smoking smoking. very edie sedgwick in that way.  little girls skirts bought for next-to-nothing at the market because she’s skinny enough to get away with it, barely long enough to cover your bum, and then the ugliest baggy sweater you’ve ever seen thrown over it.

likes old things. old books, old music, old houses, it reminds her of happier times like when she wasn’t alive. buys all her music on vinyl and has a gramphone because “The Sound quality is Better” kfdsjj.

super into pop art and andy warhol. puts female friendships above everything but at the same time, would fuck her best friends man

her clothing style is like…. vintage thrift store but make it preppy. berets and cute hats, neck scarves, large fluffy cardigans or like those leathery jackets with big suede fringes on them, mini skirts (very 70s), and knee high socks or boots. quite often she’ll be in sports kit, maybe a cute tennis skirt, n when she’s feeling casual she’ll wear like, a talking heads tshirt with a pair of mom jeans and converse, but otherwise, the library is her catwalk.

aesthetics:

a bubble of pink gum on chapped lips, mom jeans, a beaten up pair of adidas, denim jackets, strawberry laces, knee-highs, chapped lips, peeling sticky plasters, split knuckles, bruises you try to cover with concealer, stick and poke tattoos, hot coffee, sleep caught in your eyes on a lazy afternoon, kissing girls, cigarette smoke shrouding you like a veil, alien conspiracy theories and sci-fi paperbacks, doc martens with fraying laces, the red string of a thong peaking out purposely from jeans, leonine arch of your back and that stellar smile that says ‘you have no idea who you’re dealing with’, a rucksack permanently packed for the move, a streak of red across your lips, roller blades, cut knees, not eating your greens, smiling with a mouthful of blood, and piercing your own ears with a safety pin when your mom wouldn’t take you, kate moss posters lining the walls of a teenage bedroom, his name scrawled in rage across the pages of a diary, thumb holes poked through the cuffs of your sleeves, a tennis racket you punched through in a fit of temper, feet pounding the earth until your soles bleed crimson, sleeping in a cherry lip balm and scrunchies to keep the wild locks from your eyes.

wanted plots

frinds !! unlikely friends !! toxic friends !! former best friends separated by sports rivalries ! sporting friends who are on other teams but who she absolutely loves playin against!!! 

since greta literally can’t differentiate between romantic and platonic love, she’s got off with so many of her mates, so i want awkward friendships where they nearly dated, or exes that have now just turned into weird friendships

 girls from the cheer team who she’s like, weirdly intimate with like the shower together but its not a Thing cos the other girls straight !!! what do u mean !! aha just fun !

and I want like, fellow criminology students who are like?? how is this bitch still passing?? i swear she goes out every night?? 

she works part time at a fast food restaurant, i want a mate that just goes and sits in there talking to her until her manager gets angry. 

ppl she did a few modules with ie. art history, bio-med, film studies, before changing course and somehow sort of remaining in touch with

 ppl who she runs track with. 

someone she’s trying to make a zine with. 

here’s a list of plots on her old blog if u want any of them w her.

would love plots of any type, throw them all at me please, i cnt wait to interact w all of u. like this if u want me to message you about connections / plots! xo

full biography if u can be bothered

trigger warnings: drugs, domestic abuse, gun.

you never meant for it to happen. you’d heard the stories, of girls who let their man walk all over them, and thought to yourself “i’ll never be one of those girls…” the kind that eat low-fat yoghurt and drink slim fast to shred a few extra pounds because he said she was getting round in the tummy, or the ones who spent their evenings tied to a kitchen sink drinking wine while him and the boys played poker, wishing god, if only I could get out of here. not you, not you raised by strong women, four bright shining beacons. single mother with her hard-as-nails attitude and her stony glares, elder sisters (twins) one ginger, one blonde, one doctor, one lawyer, both determined to take a bullet to the brain and a hammer to the patriarchy before they let a man touch them without asking. you were always so inferior, so insecure and small, like a bird (like a sparrow) with blonde plaits down your back sucking tropicana whilst your busom buds sucked dick, their lips permanently ripe with stories of their sexual exploits, fake tan and glittered nails whilst you sat in the unbroken egg of virginity wondering what it was like to be loved. one day you found out.

lily milligan’s parents gone and a free house for the night, bottles of ouzo and tequila swiped from your mother’s liquor cabinet thinking she wouldn’t know (she always knew) your legs, hardened from pep squad, slut dropping on a kitchen table because the boys thought it would be fun to get the quiet girl drunk. you’d never had a sip before that night. band t-shirts, denim shorts and the split soles of rotten converse that you refuse to let go of, you still clutched with both hands to your youth, but in a tube top now (borrowed from alice carmichael who had a sister in college) and a short tennis skirt, your feet not in trainers but in thigh-high boots. uncomfy as hell but lily said you needed to look sexy. you didn’t know if you wanted to be sexy. you didn’t know what kind of girl you were, if you were even a girl at all. but robbie looked at you like he knew exactly who you were, like he knew you better than you knew yourself, and his lips had the pink cupid’s bow of a movie star, and his hair was dark locks, curling like a mane. his hands were soft, and suddenly on your waist, and after three more shots his lips were on yours and his name was the only sound in your head and on your lips as you lost it in lily’s college sister’s bedroom beneath the glare of a T-Pain poster. you bled for what seemed like hours, his hand still in yours, kissing on the sofa as truth tellers and dare devils continued to spin a bottle of unprecedented youth. you thought it was love. robbie was the one. he loved you, you knew it, how else could someone be so soft? but soon he grew bored, scrunched up your paper heart and set it alight. then came the tears, the hatred, the ‘fuck robbie, in fact, fuck all boys.’ and that you did.

you were known for being easy. any boy could be yours for a night, as long as he promised to love you for those few short breaths and pants before you cried yourself to sleep. you felt poisoned, but poisonous as well, as if by ensnaring these young boys you were gaining power over them, and not the other way around. soon it started to work. they’d want more, but you’d deny them it, sick of sucking off silly schoolboys, they’d call you a tease, a vixen. maybe you were, but you couldn’t help but want older men. you got the history teacher first time, him bending you over his desk to sneak a hand up your tennis skirt as the after-school clubs carried on next door, unawares. love didn’t exist, not for you. it was nothing but a game for pretty young girls to play, bubble gum in their canines and a hand tugging at the hem of their cheer skirt.

there was so much anger inside of your small body, ‘beware of boys and their hook-like words’. hockey helped. there was something formidable about the feeling of a stick like a weapon in your hands and the thwack it made against thighs in the heat of a scrum - “slipped, sorry!” - you’d utter with a snakeskin smile, millicent quinn knowing that you’d hit her on purpose because she shagged robbie at that party last week. she couldn’t prove it, cobbled acne on her forehead turning green with disgust. ben came into your life like a car crash. two years your senior, with a baseball jacket and shoulders like a god. he became your personal hero. on the pitch, he was lethal. together, you could bring anyone to their ruin. each day after last period he’d be waiting in his car. you’d leap into his arms like a girl-half starved, love me, love me, love me, your heated kisses the envy of every junior girl. he was yours for three blissful years, utterly yours, and you were his, his star-spangled girl, and he was your knight - you were both the same, playing games, always difficult to predict. it was a shock to all when he proposed, high-school sweethearts find love in south dakota.

the engagement was a bittersweet affair; three months – you barely out of your gingham print skirts and into a graduation gown, him, a surly quarterback towering above your sisters, cigarette at his lips and a scowl like a fart in a lift. they hated him. so did you. but you were eighteen and in love, and he fitted the cookie cutter mould. everyone wanted him, and you had him. you had him and you were happy, happy, happy, and he loved you. he said he’d give you the world, anything you wanted hand-picked and given to you. instead, he gave you a jack russell terrier and a flat you couldn’t swing a cat in, wallpaper peeling like the rotten bits inside of you, the bits that only he knew. and you got tireder and tireder of the sad excuse of a life he’d picked out for you, him out doing god knows what to pay the bills, and you dancing on tables to pave your way to stardom, and this was love, this was real, until the shine wore off and your fresh-faced, dimple-cheeked cheerleader facade faded and the ugliness started to reveal itself, the whining, the petulance, the sharp-tempered cruelty, the mind games, the need to always win, win, win. he was dull, he was boring, he was nothing like the boy the girls had said he was and no chiselled six pack could hide his lack of anything remotely interesting, your patience wearing thin until it snapped like rubber, a rucksack on your back, running shoes on your feet and the joint bank account emptied into your eighth grade birthday wallet.

you built your small fortunes working the casinos of sioux falls, a crimson dress and an attitude to match. bookish archie with his little dipper freckles was fun for a month, before he became just as dull and dreary as the rest. a three hour bus and you were in minneapolis, bright eyed and bushy tailed, fresh meat ready for the pickings. a hostel here, a friendly co-worker’s sofa there as you made what you could by taking off your clothes and shaking your ass like you were back in pep squad, doing what you did best. you met your fair share of creeps, and soon it was back on the road to escape a wide-eyed stalker and a restless itch for more. milwaukee, chicago, you made the roads your own. log cabins and lodgings, and the occasional motel, a beaten up pick up truck purchased at a scrap merchants – you got a few miles out of it before it bit the dust, and when you finally set it alight after nights spent lounging across the driver’s seat, a parka tucked over you as a duvet, you were sad to see it go. you’re nomadic by fault, never attaching to place, people or things, creating a new personality in every place you go like a character actress; each town is a different repertory theatre, and you’re the star. a compulsive liar, you even fib about your own name, to some you’re ellen, nineteen, bookish, a law student who likes smoking and cosmos. to someone else you’re rita, you’re twenty five and look young for your age, like smoking, comics and fucking in public places.

in the bright lights of michigan, you found charlie, sweet charlie, too good for you, though you let him spoil you while he thought you were the small town girl of his dreams. next came abigail, who was fun until the jealously kicked in, and then luke, gorgeous luke, dangerous, exciting, who despite his temper, despite the fights, despite bruises down your spine and your teeth marks on his arms, loved you with the strength of a wild fire. there was destruction in your wishbones, a savageness from the field, from the pitch and now somehow in his arms, you were godly. he was cruel, he was careless, and he refused to fall at your feet like so many other boys had, which only you made you want him all the more. you were rage incarnate. you hated him so fiercely you thought you might kill him, so he played the only card you wouldn’t predict; proposed.

the house you shared was a backstreet flat in detroit, you making your name as a downtown singer while he footed the bill with pills. they had a drug for anything these days, to dull the senses, to pick them up, to drive you to insanity or pull you out of the madness hole. the two of you lived like criminals on the run (you never told him that you were, living out your days as the enigma he wanted you to be), you with your voice like caramel and fishnet legs. you were his and his alone until his hand was at your throat and the gun was in your hands screaming at him to stop, stop, stop, until a bullet stoppered his brain, crimson staining linoleum as you cast yourself out like lucifer. self defence was decreed the moment they saw your violet neck, black tears and headlight eyes and mind screaming red, red, red like the pom-poms you shook so willingly in school and the insides of his skull. you were gone, and “you” was born, renamed “greta”, boxed, shipped-out, and next-day delivered to livingstone where under witness protection you were a student, blank slate, fresh-faced in a place where no one knew your name, doing what you always did and starting again.

[lauriesdrafts]

headcanon masterlist

spring headcanons

a

summer headcanons

SUMMER. summer bummer. she’s not a fan (and frankly, me neither).

 she did not have a pool. she did not have a tiny backyard to just get a sprinkler and jump around. she does not even know how to swim!

fall headcanons

fall left her with some mixed feelings. she loves learning, but she hates going to school. leaving her parents, waving her grandma goodbye by the school fence, seeing her brother in older classes make friends while she just collected remaining dandelions or daisies or crunchy leaves, big sad energy. 

APPLE PICKING IS HER FAVORITE THING. loves loves loves apple picking. it was her birthday tradition. her family would

i’m still debating whether she likes pumpkin spice lattés or not... how low and basic can i go?

winter headcanons

she prefers winter to summer, always has and always will.

she hates big snow or ice storms. she’s scared of them.

she makes the cutest snowmen ever! carrot, scarves and all! and snow angels? HER FAVE.

she CANNOT SKI OR SNOWBOARD. she’s not made for that. unless you carry her in your arms or have her old the stick while skiing so she does nothing but follow you, she’s never going to try. snowboard? don’t even think about it, moving sideways is for crabs. this might have something to do with some ptsd from when her first boyfriend took her to a hill to ski and laughed at her because she wasn’t good and was scared anyway, it’s ice skating or nothing at all.

she only skates in arenas. she hates skating on lakes or any surface that is bumpy. she goes so fast she’ll just fall if she hits the smallest bump. fyi, alessandra never hates to fall. it’s humiliating.

she loves maple taffy on snow, she’s like addicted to it. and ever since she learned how to make it on her own, it’s dangerous.

she would throw fits if her winter suits didn’t match. she needed the hat, the mittens and the suit to be of the same color scheme or else you could not even take her out. tough times, since her parents just used adam’s older clothes to put on her.

childhood headcanons

a

teenager headcanons

if she was a teenager now, chances are she would probably be a vsco girl, but without the annoying attitude. she would be a walking pastel scrunchie.

she did not have much of a personal style growing up. maybe she was ahead of her time, but she 100% dressed like this or wore simple dresses like this one, this one or this one (lea michele tw; sorry i started this post before the whole catastrophe). she was either grunge emo tomboy or the annoying preppy teacher’s pet.

the truth is she was the annoying preppy teacher’s pet. her general average never went below 85% and she was a pleasure to have in class, except for the fact she talked all the time with her school friends.

she was not involved into any activities or clubs. although, during lunch times, teachers would stay in their classroom to help students who struggled. sandrine would offer to help too. she helped in french, english and history classes. she would give dictations, review the class material and help grade papers with the teachers. if she was not busy helping, she was stuck with her math teachers who tried to explain her that yes it’s unfair but algebra is real and she has to live with it. in other times, she was in the visual art classes. she could be found drawing or doing palette knife or watercolor paintings.

she hated physical education classes. she was good at only three sports: gymnastics, tennis and volleyball. she was too short and clueless for the rest.

every year, she would win an award for her excellence. she won 2 for her success in english classes, 2 for history and one for french as she got the highest grade of her school at the final exam of the ministry (québec’s education system is messed up).

gun tw! hunting tw! when she turned 15, her father signed her up for an outdoor activity complaining that the only time she spent outside was when she walked from the car to the arena. he wanted to take them camping, but sandrine refused. he wanted to take them fishing, but adam thought it wasn’t cool. so he took them hunting with some family friend who had a cabin two hours away from montréal. sandrine wasn’t really into the idea of hunting, but the siblings built a competition of who could shoot better. they took shooting lessons, and on the first attempt, sandrine hit the bullseye. not just the bullseye! but between the two bullet holes that were in the bullseye. adam couldn’t even hit the target. the hunting weekend arrived, and sandrine was not having it. she didn’t want to wake up early to dress in camo and sit in the cold and humid fall mornings. they didn’t see any animals except a curious squirrel, because sandrine talked the whole time. they never went hunting since this day. moral of the story: she’s the canadian sniper, bradley cooper hit her up pls you’ve found your match.

illness tw! she did not attend her prom ball. she did not care about it and did not want her parents to spend money on a dress she’d never wear again, she preferred to help them save up to pay for her grandmother’s treatments (@bernie sanders: no the canadian healthcare system is not all free, sorry to burst your bubble). instead, adam organized a tiny little party at home for his sister since he did attend his ball two years prior.

oh, and one more! adam was stuck in some drama involving a complicated love triangle or some shit and there were rumors going around the school that a fight would happen between him and another guy. adam was terrified (hint: he’s not the throwing gloves on ice type of hockey player). so do you know who showed up to the fight after class? SANDRINE. she kicked the guy in the crotch, knee kicked him in the stomach and managed to slam him against the lockers. when the principal called the hébert siblings to his office the next day, he didn’t believe such a fragile creature as sandrine could do such an evil thing and she got away with it.

[estrellami-1]

(hi hello i hope this is okay)

“Good afternoon,” a voice says. A woman, Eddie can tell, even with the way the shop echoes sounds, even with his entire upper half under a car. “I was hoping you could take a look at my car.”

“Of course,” Billy says. Eddie grimaces. He hates Billy, and Wayne definitely doesn’t like him either, but in this podunk town there are precious few people who know cars well enough to work at Wayne’s, and unfortunately, Billy is one of those few. Wayne tolerates him until he screws up big time, then he’s out on his ass. Eddie and Wayne have spoken about it before. In detail.

Well, okay. Maybe Eddie provides most of the details, but its not like he’s wrong.

“It’s just the v-belts,” she continues, breaking Eddie out of his reverie. “I just don’t have what I need at home to fix it.”

Billy chuckles. “Well let me take a look, and I can tell you,” he says. Eddie grits his teeth and peeks out from underneath the car.

Holy fucking shitballs, is his first thought, because this woman is gorgeous. He’s about to float over to her like a damn cartoon character smelling a pie.

He then clocks the look on her face, and oh, she is pissed. Eddie grins maniacally. Billy’s had it coming for a while now.

Eddie slips out from under the car, pokes his head into the office where Wayne’s focused on some paperwork. “Hey, Pops, you might wanna come out here. I think this might be the time Billy finally gets what’s comin’ to him.”

Wayne raises his brows, but does follow Eddie back into the shop, where Billy is popping out from looking at her engine. “Here’s the deal, sweetheart,” he says apologetically. “You were partially right, it was the v-belt, but there’s a couple other things, too. First of all, your spark plugs need to be replaced. Then your battery’s half corroded, so that’ll need replacing, too. And lastly, the bearings in your alternator are worn out. That’s a bigger job, too, so you’ll need to leave you car here for the next couple of hours.”

She raises her brow. “Here’s the deal, sweetheart,” she says back, bitchy and perfect. “I replaced the spark plugs last month, so I know those are still good. Strike one. My battery is not corroded, I can see that from here. Strike two. You didn’t turn my car on and you can’t see the alternator bearings without removing and opening the alternator, so you have no way of knowing if they’re worn out or not. Strike three.” She puts her hands on her hips, juts a hip out. “Now, do you wanna try to lie to me again, or are you gonna do what I told you needed to happen in the first place?”

“Actually,” Wayne says, “if I’m not mistaken, three strikes means you’re out, Hargrove.” He crosses his arms when Billy looks over, nods toward the door. “You’re fired. I’ll send your last check on Monday. Get the hell out of here.” He turns to Eddie. “You got time to take care of that belt?”

“Sure do,” Eddie grins, bouncing up to the woman with a grin. “I’ve half a mind to start applauding you,” he confides in a theater whisper. “We’ve been trying to fire him for ages, now, but no one’s ever caught him in the act. I think you’re actually my savior now.”

She blushes and giggles, and Eddie does his best not to swoon. “Well, it’s not that hard when you know what you’re looking for. I really just didn’t have the tools at home to do that repair myself, otherwise I would’ve.”

“I’ve got no doubt,” Eddie grins. “But hey, we’ve suddenly got an opening here in the shop, if you’re looking for a job.” He winks. “I know Wayne can look like a sourpuss, but I promise he’s a marshmallow on the inside. He’ll love ya instantly.” He chuckles, “hell, he probably loves ya already, since y’gave him reason to fire Billy.”

She laughs, extends a hand. He raises his, showing her the grease on his hands. She rolls her eyes and grabs his hand to shake anyways. “Stephanie Harrington.”

“Eddie Munson,” he grins, bowing. “Wayne’s nephew.”

Stephanie giggles again. “And theater kid?”

Eddie tilts his head side to side with a considering look. “I may have dabbled,” he allows, grinning when she does.

“I’m kinda a package deal, when it comes to work,” she admits. “Tell me, does your uncle need someone to handle phone calls and paperwork?”

“Stephanie Harrington, Wayne will actually adopt you. He hates all of that and I’m terrible at it. When can you start?”

Stephanie laughs. “How about you fix my car and we’ll go from there?”

He considers her: sensible slacks and shoes, a nicer shirt than anything Eddie owns, one hand dirty from shaking his. “How about we fix your car together?”

Stephanie raises her eyebrows. “Is that allowed?”

“Eh,” Eddie shrugs, winking, “I’m the owner’s nephew, I think I get a free pass.”

“Well,” she says, this time bitchy and teasing, and Jesus Christ, could she get any more perfect? “I guess there’s no use arguing with the owner’s nephew.” She looks around, snags a nearby towel and tosses one end over her shoulder with a grin. “Let’s get started.”

They finish quickly, just over half an hour, and Eddie grins at her as she slams the hood shut. “I think we make a good team,” she says. “But we’ve gotta test it, right? Go for a drive, make sure it’s all working correctly?”

Eddie grins, shoves his knuckles against his lips, quickly regrets it when he tastes oil. “Fuck,” he mutters, making a face. “Well, if that didn’t completely change your mind, or at least what I was hoping you were saying, I know an ice cream place just a little ways down the road?”

Stephanie laughs, tosses the rag in his face. “Wipe your face. Ice cream is exactly what I was thinking.” She hops in the car, turns it on. Stares expectantly at Eddie.

He comes to life suddenly, jumping and holding a finger up, asking her to wait, before sprinting to the office. “Wayne,” he says, “we’re going to get ice cream, she may have solved all our problems, actually, and I’m gonna marry her one day.”

Wayne snorts. “She know that?”

“Everything except the marriage bit, but she will one day. Bye Wayne!” He runs back out the door and slides into her car. “Onward!” He announces, pointing, then blinks when he points at the garage wall. “Uh… I mean backward!”

She snorts, shifts into reverse. Puts a practiced hand on his headrest. “You’re such a dork.” She’s smiling, though, so Eddie doesn’t worry about it, just grins, happy with the ability to make her laugh. 

She does, ultimately, accept the position at the garage, as long as Wayne and Eddie let her bitch at men who think they know better than her. Wayne readily agrees and Eddie actively encourages it. Robin comes on as their secretary, so Wayne can move back into the garage full-time. 

Very quickly after that, Stephanie and Eddie officially start dating.

Not too long after that, he’s standing at an altar, watching her walk down the aisle towards him.

Mechanic!Eddie fully thriving as he watches Stevie eviscerate one of his fellow mechanics for thinking she can be ripped off.

That's his future wife right there.

She dont know it yet

But that's her.